This Hollow Soul
by SarahHime
Summary: A morning of questions that never really seem to get answered. Eh, I was testing my abilities to write Dorothy... ^^;;;


This Hollow Soul of Mine  
By Sarah-chan  
  
Morning, dull and gray, as it always is, as it always   
was... and as far as it has shown, as it always will   
be. I walk up the dark steps, tray in hands, hearing   
the hum of mechanical joints as I process my motions,   
and there he is, leaning against the railing on his   
balcony.  
  
I don't know emotions, what these humans feel. I don't  
understand why they effect every decision one makes. It  
is easy for me, what to choose. Logical, decisive,   
poignant... for the most part. I can't come up with a  
rational answer to some of the actions I take...   
especially around my bodyguard.  
  
I am a dead girl's image, made from emotion, to attempt  
to fill a hole inside an empty and broken man. I don't  
understand how I could. I would only be there. I   
cannot smile, or laugh... I am programmed to have a   
"wry sense of humor" but what is the point if I am not  
able to recieve any satisfaction from these comments?  
  
And yet, as I watch him there, leaning against the   
railing, the wind blowing against his once immaculate  
hair, there is a silence in the air that I cannot quite  
understand. A silence that reverberates through my  
body, through this hollow soul of mine.  
  
"Good morning, Roger."  
  
He turns with liquid motion, hands in the pockets of   
his black velvet robe. I never understood his   
attatchment to black. It is a symbol of death, of fear.  
It is cold and dull. This city is too black for humans.  
Too dark and negative.  
  
"Good morning, Dorothy," he says, his voice deep and   
rich. It is a warm sound, unlike my own, hollow and   
emotionless. He smiles, the soft skin of his face  
creating tiny wrinkles, or tightening areas as his   
muscles around his eyes reveal genuine pleasure at my  
prescence.  
  
Why is he so interested in me? Why is everybody so   
fascinated with an android girl? I am nothing but metal  
and wires and gears. I am nothing at all in the eyes  
of humans. I am a machine. And yet he smiles whenever   
he sees me. I do not understand this Roger Smith.  
  
"Ah, breakfast." He rubs his hands in delight.  
  
"I don't understand why you need to see all of this food.  
All you have is the coffee."  
  
His soft smile turns to a grin, and he motions to the  
stone table, where I set the tray down. He walks over   
to the chair, the wind settling down after one last  
bat to his robe.  
  
"There are a lot of things you don't understand, isn't  
there?" he says as he ignores his porridge and goes   
straight for the coffee pot. No sugar. No cream. Just  
strong. Just black. Like him. "You're curious for  
an android."  
  
"I am not curious," I say. "I only try to figure out  
that which puzzles me."  
  
"Well, I've got time on my hands," he motions to the  
chair across from him, and I can hear my joints make  
a smooth and nearly soundless turn as I stare at it. I  
can hear him sigh, and I turn back to watch as he rolls  
his eyes upward. "Sit down, Dorothy."  
  
I do, and there is silence as he drinks his black   
coffee and stares at me. He sets the china cup down,   
the liquid daring to tumble over the edge, and the wind  
tossles his hair again, leaving my metal strands alone.  
  
"Is there a point to this?" I ask.  
  
"Don't you want me to explain anything to you?"  
  
"What is there to explain?"  
  
"I don't know." He looks down at his coffee and   
gestures at it. "Like why I only drink coffee in the  
morning."  
  
"Why do you?" There is silence as his forehead creases  
in concentration, in looking inward. I can tell he  
doesn't have an answer himself. "Breakfast is the most  
important meal of the day--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before."  
  
"Then why do you do it?"  
  
"I... I don't know."  
  
"Why do you do things you don't understand?"  
  
"I don't know! I just do."  
  
"It doesn't seem like you are answering any of my   
questions, Roger."  
  
"Look, this is obviously getting us nowhere. Ask   
something else."  
  
I stare at his face for a moment, and he takes his eyes   
aways, blushing, uncomfortable. How odd he is as he   
tries to subtly hide his face with his hands.  
  
"Why are your eyebrows shaped so oddly?"  
  
His fingers flit over his eyebrows, and he frowns.   
"What's wrong with them?"  
  
"They just don't look normal."  
  
He peers down at his reflection in the black coffee,  
angling his head to catch the shape of his eyebrows, and  
finally gives up, choosing to ignore the fact the hair  
starts to change direction toward the end.   
  
"They don't look bad, do they?" he asks finally,   
hesitantly, a little worried. A man is full of confidence  
and charisma, and his one weakness is external appearance.  
  
"No. They just stand out. Have you tried changing them?"  
  
"What? You mean plucking? Only women do that. It's a   
woman thing. Do I look like a woman to you?" His face  
is flushing now.  
  
"It was just a suggestion."  
  
"Well, I don't need suggestions, *especially* from an   
android!"  
  
There is a silence now, as he frowns and decides to drink  
the last of his coffee to excuse the emptiness. His eyes  
hesitate before meeting mine, and his shoulders sag with  
an unnessecary guilt.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, Dorothy. I shouldn't have said that."  
  
"Said what, Roger?"  
  
"I called you... an android."  
  
"I am one."  
  
He blinks now in confusion, and maybe some annoyance. He  
doesn't percieve that I understand his tone of voice on  
"android" was something related to disdain, as if I have  
no right giving suggestions or comments. I suppose he's  
right in a way... who am I to give suggestions on fashion  
and appearance?  
  
"Sometimes, Dorothy, I forget you aren't human."  
  
"I don't understand how you could--"  
  
"What I mean is, you act so real-- not that you aren't,   
but it's just you seem so human-like-- and of course you   
look like a girl--"  
  
"Roger. Be quiet. I like you better when you don't  
confuse yourself."  
  
Another silence, awkward in a different way now. Today is  
different, I can tell. Today, the tables have turned.   
Today, I will be the Roger of the Morning.  
  
"Dorothy?"  
  
"Yes, Roger?"  
  
"Can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you feel emotions? Don't try to think about it, just  
answer."  
  
This is new. I've never not thought about anything before,  
I don't quite under--  
  
"Dorothy," he warns.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know what emotions feel like."  
  
"You said you 'liked me', didn't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Wouldn't that be feeling something?"  
  
"I suppose. If I feel emotions, it's not in the way   
humans do."  
  
"But, don't you get worried? Or frightened at all?"  
  
"No... but I feel a difference in my body in different  
situations. Like when I play the piano--" He grimaces  
now. I don't know why, but I've always enjoyed playing   
the piano, if I can even use that word. "--I feel as if   
there is a softness to my body, as if the sound seeps into  
it, and fills me inside. I can feel the sound. I guess  
I... like the feeling, and I want to feel it again."  
  
"How about with people? Would you rather be around   
certain people more than others?"  
  
"I would rather not be with those who would try to destroy  
me."  
  
"I mean... how do you feel around... say, me?"  
  
"...There is a stillness, a sound that I can feel... I   
don't quite know how to explain it. I just feel... I   
just feel... as if there is another person inside of me  
when I am around you, as if there are two people in me  
instead of one. I don't know... I am an android, but I  
know that I enjoy the feeling."  
  
He flushes slightly, and turns away to stare at the   
buildings beside ours.  
  
"How would you feel if I died?"  
  
"I hadn't thought about it before."  
  
"Let's say I *did* die--"  
  
"But you haven't--"  
  
"For goodness sakes, Dorothy, this is a hypothetical   
question. Let's just say I *did* die, alright?"  
  
"...Alright."  
  
"How would you feel?"  
  
"I don't know. You haven't died."  
  
He sighs, and nods his head, expecting that answer. I  
know he was, but I also know he had been hoping there   
might be a chance for another.  
  
I confuse myself sometimes. I do not feel emotions, and  
yet I use the words of feelings, because I know them to  
be true. I like Roger Smith. I don't know how or why,   
but I enjoy it when I am around him.  
  
"I wouldn't feel that feeling anymore," I say, finally.  
  
"What?"  
  
"As if I am two people. I would no longer feel it if you  
were dead."  
  
He looks at me, giving me a strange look, a look I have  
only seen when he thinks I do not notice him standing in  
the shadows of his house. His face is grim, lined with  
concentration and ideas flipping through his brain.  
But his eyes, they sparkle. And it changes the morning.  
  
He clears his throat, the moment ruined but remembered, and  
stands up, taking his coffee cup with him, and walks past,  
hoping I do not notice the small stumble he makes on his   
way inside.  
  
The wind picks up again, trying in vain to blow my hair  
askew. It'll just have to be content with my dress...   
black... like him. 


End file.
